


The Mod Affair

by Merfilly



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E., NCIS, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma approves strongly of Illya, and wishes something of him. However, when she gains it, it's not hers to keep, in their world of spies and danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mod Affair

  
Cover created by annariel on Dreamwidth

Illya had finally... he thought... gotten all traces of the rope burns rubbed with salve. He had showered, shaved, and put on respectable clothes to cover the marks of his latest affair for U.N.C.L.E. Freshly wrapped in his dignity, he left the hotel room... and immediately was caught by the sight of his rescuer.

As ever, Emma Peel was the very picture of moddish style. He could definitely appreciate her charms, knowing that the velvet exterior hid steel that was worth respect.

"I would have thought you would be back on your way to England, Ms. Peel."

She smiled, walking over to take his arm as a lady might. "Actually, Mr. Kuryakin, my business was not actually to be had in that facility. It merely held the person I had come to meet for a business proposition."

"Oh?" Illya's nerves pricked, but he took her subtle guidance, walking with her down the hall to a new room.

"You, as am I certain you already surmised, are that person."

"Then I must profess gratitude, for your timely arrival to assist Solo and I."

She paused at the door of her room, using the key to let them both in. "Join me, so we may talk?"

"Madame, it would be my pleasure." Illya watched her face, and saw the warm smile with its hint of mischief. With her, another who knew the trade of secrets and security, he could afford to relax somewhat; they each knew the other would not give up what they knew in any mind games.

Once inside, she gave him a vodka, while taking a simple martini for herself, settling on the small couch. He had one end, and she turned enough to see him as she spoke.

"Illya, I have a simple proposal to make to you."

"When a woman mentions that word, it is rarely simple."

She smiled again, laughing slightly. "Well, I have seen your wedding band, so it does get somewhat complicated rather swiftly. Namely, I will be asking you to grant me a favor that may cut against your vows."

"My vows..." He gave her an intrigued look. "Why not Solo? I presume you mean to ask me to be your accompaniment for a task that requires a wedded look."

"It is not a task. It is something of a desire to... leave a different legacy." She sipped at her drink, gathering her words as Illya contemplated just what she meant. "You see, Illya, while I have mostly divested myself of working for Her Majesty, I feel that the world is changing, and wish to offer the next generation what I may of my abilities. Sadly, though, the man I am married to is not of... superior material. We have not conceived, and the doctors are certain it is not myself at fault."

That made Illya's head spin. If he was parsing this correctly, and he had to be, he was being asked to father a child. A child that, if genetic theory held any truth, might very well be a so-called super-spy with the right education and training.

"I see." He then took a long drink of his vodka, appreciating its flavor, before he spoke again. "Why not Solo? Or for that matter, Steed?"

She shook her head. "You are the gifted part of your team. As for John..." She smiled enigmatically. "He cannot be a factor in this equation, Illya. I want you for this, but if you say no, I will understand, and it will not affect how we interact."

"And if I say yes? What of the child? How will his... or her... life proceed?"

Emma curled her legs up under her, settling in further. "I wish to raise the child. If the child does have a nature suited to service, I will see the child trained in my methods... and if you wish to be part of that, I will not say you may not. I would encourage it."

"Your husband?"

"Will agree to my wishes."

Illya considered. His wife would not need to know; she preferred not to have any details of his life. It felt atavistic to be pleased at passing on his genes, but those with Romani blood were growing more rare with every generation, it felt like.

And Emma was a strong, bold woman with skill, intelligence, and beauty to admire. He set his drink down, and began taking off his jacket.

She smiled, setting her own drink down.

`~`~`~`~`

_Four Years Later_

Illya Kuryakin had never felt as helpless as he did in the moment he read the telegram from England. He read the words at least five times before the telegram was burned dispassionately in an ashtray.

That his homeland was suspected did not surprise him, but that it hit so close to home was likely without their knowledge. He would learn the truth of the attack in England, and let Emma Peel know if she had reason to hope their child still existed behind the Iron Curtain.

`~`~`~`~`

_Several Years Later_

Clint Barton hated, with passion even, the mandatory hand-to-hand 'refreshers' that S.H.I.E.L.D. insisted upon. Even if his current trainer was beautiful, despite being old enough to be his mother, it still stung to give up his distance.

However, the liaison from British Intelligence was damn good at working with him, helping him improvise for when something got inside his range.

"Ma'am," he asked, after the fifth time he found the mats under his back from a sweep he could have sworn she was not going to be able to pull off. "How in... how do you do it?"

"Do you really want to learn, Agent Barton?"

Clint accepted her help up. He nodded, unable to phrase his thoughts in a way that wouldn't sound bad. Seriously, though, if a woman of her age could take him down, he wanted to learn how to counter it. Then he could handle anything that threatened his assignments, long or short range.

"Agent Coulson thought you might prefer learning from me, and I owed him a favor," she said to his nod. "So, I will be glad to help you focus what you already have at your disposal. You are good, Agent Barton. But I will make you better." She let her voice end on a hanging note, and he thought of the adage that everything had a price.

"You owe him; what will I owe you?" he asked.

Emma Peel's face tightened, and then she spoke. "Coulson is of the opinion you will be working the former Eastern Bloc, and I have intelligence that someone I am seeking is likely to be found there."

"I don't step outside my parameters."

"It's my daughter I seek. Her father was able to tell me he knows she still lives, trained by the former Soviet machine to counter our agencies. He has since lost most of his access, and had to... retire."

Clint's ears had perked on the idea of this being about family. That... struck closer than he cared to admit. "You wish to know what, ma'am?"

"I want conclusive proof she lives... and then perhaps, I can find a way to contact her, to learn if she is very much the child I wished for, regardless of which service she follows. Perhaps I can even convince her to accept a more global attitude." Emma stepped back. "Shall we begin your training?" The unspoken question was 'will you do this' but Clint considered the cost to him negligible. 

"Yeah, let's do this."

`~`~`~`~`

_Budapest_

He knew he had his target. She was within the parameters, and he was meant to bring her down.

She also matched the full profile that had been given to him by his instructor.

The mission was at odds with his personal debt. It was down to his call, a call he did not make until he had retrieved his arrows after his first fight with her.

"Your orders are clear."

Agent Coulson was good, but he didn't have the full details. Clint ignored the reminder, running the gene typing machine on the blood from his arrowhead. The report printed, and he compared it to the older, more primitive report taken in an English hospital far earlier in his target's lifetime.

He knew what his call would be. He just had to find a way to convince the Black Widow to give him a chance to make it.

`~`~`~`~`

Natasha knew she was being monitored, even now. It was a fact of her existence. Listening to the man she had a life debt to had merely exchanged one watcher for another.

None of it mattered as she faced the woman on the deck of a S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier at sea in the Atlantic. Answers that had eluded her to questions she had been trained to not ask were within her grasp.

"Agent Barton said you are the woman who gave birth to me."

The British woman nodded. "I am. Blood typing and DNA both say so."

"So I saw." Natasha was certain such things could be forged, but did it truly matter? She had made a choice that brought her here. "How did I come to be in Russia, if I was born in England?"

"You were abducted, along with several other gifted children from the Western powers while the Curtain still hung across Europe. I was not home at the time, but the man I was married to … he tried to protect you. I came home to bury him and begin a hunt for you."

Natasha's brow furrowed. "He was not my father?"

"Not in the biblical sense." Emma smiled sadly. "The man who fathered you gave me the hope you were alive, and as much information as he could so I could find you, once I had a way in. It is why I accepted the offer to work with this agency. They had access that both he and I had lost in the shifting struggles of our world."

"Is he alive?"

"He is. He retired to a more peaceful life, under a new name, but I know where he is." Emma looked her over. "I can introduce you when we dock, if you like?"

"He's in Washington?" Natasha was surprised, given that Emma was English.

"It seems he couldn't fully leave service," Emma said with a small shake of her head that spoke of amusement. "No more than I could."

Natasha contemplated that, knowing that if this tale was true, all that she was didn't have to be an elaborate lie. If it was in her genes to be the woman she was... maybe she could start balancing her book a little better, with more passion for what she had become.

"I think I would like to meet him... and learn more of who I could have been."

The woman that was a stranger and yet possibly the first person Natasha had ever known smiled at that.

"I think you are who you are, and that woman is a good legacy for both her parents, even if she can't see it yet."

Natasha didn't try to make sense of that. Maybe in time, she would understand.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic of crack ideas striking...and people encouraging me. Yes, I did opt to have Ducky actually be the retired Illya in the end.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Mod Affair [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298534) by [blackglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/pseuds/blackglass)




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